


Postcards From Flagstaff

by SmackTheDevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys Kissing, Brother Feels, Brother/Brother Incest, Coda, Episode: s08e10 Torn and Frayed, Explicit Language, Fights, Flashbacks, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Character Death, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:18:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22170133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmackTheDevil/pseuds/SmackTheDevil
Summary: Sam finally explains his true reason behind his fleeing to Flagstaff to a 'fresh out of purgatory' Dean.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

Sam Winchester had always been a ‘talker’ because he was smart enough to realize that talking helped. But the moments of real deep conversation were rarer than rocking horse crap. They came at times when usually one of them had got away with their life by the skin of his teeth, or when something _really_ bad was about to go down. And even then it felt more like shared eulogies. ‘ _This is what I would have said if you had died_.’ The Winchesters shared the contents of their minds mostly when it was too late. Sam had given up trying to get Dean to sit down and talk for a long time. But they were busy. Dying, not dying, saving people, hunting things, flying the flag for the dubious family business that had been their life the first moment they both came into the world. Put upon legacies. There had been no escaping, even if Sam had tried more than once. And he wouldn’t have, if only Dean would have talked. 

Flagstaff was a bone of contention between the Winchester’s, along with Stanford, Amelia, Ruby, getting hooked on demon’s blood and some crap about Sam not having a soul for a year. The list of ‘incidents’ that could rile his brother were endless but for some reason Sam couldn’t fathom, Flagstaff pissed Dean off the most. Sam kind of knew why Dean got so pissed off when he did something he didn’t agree with. Dean had Sam on a pedestal which was made of puppies and ice cream and he wore a flower crown and was pure and untouchable. And Dean seemed to forget that Sam Winchester, his ‘little’ brother was one of toughest motherfuckers to walk the earth. Probably tougher than Dean. No, definitely tougher than Dean. And of course alongside surviving Hell, addiction, torture, broken limbs, growing up mother-less, watching his father die, watching Dean die numerous times and sometimes not saving the people Winchester’s were put on the earth to save; Sam Winchester was one hell of a nice guy. When Sam was wandering the earth soulless, what pissed Dean off the most? The lack of empathy. All those times before that, Sam had approached victims of the supernatural with a kind heart and a gentle soul and Dean used to frown at his brother for being _too_ nice and sweet and understanding. The moment Sam lost the ability to even care for his own flesh and blood, Dean was on the warpath. ‘ _Empathy Sam, empathy!_ ’ Dean Winchester liked his brother to be exactly how he thought he was/is. Smart, gentle and under his protection at all times.

It’s cute but Sam Winchester doesn’t need it.

The change happened shortly after Sam chose Dean over Amelia. Another hit and miss situation in Sam Winchester’s other life as an escapologist. He’s the poster boy for the saying ‘ _You can run, but you can’t hide_.’ Another failed attempt at grasping at a normal life. Sam had called it the ‘change’ because he didn’t know what else to call it. He couldn’t bring himself to name it for what it was because what is was weird, even for the Winchester’s. 

*

Sam glanced at Dean, he’d burned the chilli in the pan and there were black bits floating around in amongst the meat and beans. Dean hadn’t seemed to notice and Sam didn’t care because he was still numb but he was back where he belonged, next to Dean. They nodded at one another as the next chapter began, ate their burned chilli and drank a few beers. All the beers. Sam was already halfway drunk when Dean announced he was going out to buy some hard liquor. There had been a brief exchange of heated words about Dean driving over the limit. ‘ _I do it more than you realize, Sammy_.’ Dean had said. When he came back, Sam was crying.

There had been snatches of talking, mostly because Dean had felt betrayed by Sam’s lack of effort to even try and look for him when he had been whisked away on vacation to purgatory for a year. Yeah, he wanted to talk then, laying the guilt on thick like too much peanut butter on a bagel. ‘ _You left me, for a girl?_ ’ What kind of brother says that? Oh yeah, Dean wanted to talk then.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dean said, narrowing his eyes at his brother who was sat on the couch wiping his red eyes. He didn’t mean to sound mean. At least that was how Sam interpreted it.

“Nothin’. I’m fine.” Sam slid his palms down the length of his jeans and gave Dean that feigned half smile he had perfected so much which worked so well with ‘ _I’m fine_.’

“Yeah, you look it. Pining for your girlfriend?” Dean could be cruel at times but handed Sam a glass of whiskey all the same.

“I probably hurt her, it’s not a great feeling, Dean.”

“I get that.”

Sam doubted that Dean did. He had done the same with Lisa and Ben. But Dean forgets very quickly.

“And that’s precisely why we can’t have nice things.” Dean added, clutching the bottle of whiskey and joining Sam on the couch. Dean was clearly in it for the long haul. “Need to talk about it?”

“What’s the point? It’s done, I’m here. Just like you wanted.”

“Oh okay, so it’s _my_ fault.”

“No, Dean. It’s our lives, isn’t it. It’s what we do.”

“It’s what you partially do, running off every few years believin’ that the grass is greener. It ain’t greener, Sammy. It’s the same grass.”

“Your analogies suck.” Sam smirked because Dean _did_ try.

“I know what I mean.” And then, after a beat. “So, what’s up with you, Houdini?”

“I’m fine.” Sam frowned at the name calling.

“You look it. You know, maybe if you just stuck with it instead of fuckin’ off all the time you’d feel better about yourself.”

“Really?” Sam scoffed.

“Yeah, I mean look at me. I just stick with it and I’m good.” 

“Sure. Dean, you’re riddled with guilt constantly, you have major ‘mommy’ issues, you drink so much that you can’t even get drunk any more and -” Sam sighed when Dean cut him off.

“Hey, this conversation ain’t about me. It’s about you.”

“Oh really?” Sam gulped his double shot of whiskey down and grabbed the bottle. “You didn’t give one crap how I felt about Amelia, it was all about you, Dean. All about how I left my post because you weren’t there to tell me to stay, like you always do, or remind me that what we do is noble and that this is it and that there is no other life beyond hunting.”

“There ain’t.”

“I disagree.”

“Not for us.” Dean amended. “When are you goin’ to realize that, huh? Stanford, fuckin’ off with Meg 0.1, all this Amelia crap and leavin’ Kevin high and dry. And we can’t ever forget-” Dean’s nostrils flared as Sam laughed.

“Go on, say it. I know it’s coming.”

“Flagstaff.”

“There we go.”

“Yeah, Flagstaff, Sam.” Dean added, as if Sam needed the clarification that Dean had never forgiven him for Flagstaff. “You bolt, on my watch. And then you’re waving a banner about it ‘ _Best time of my life_ ’. Bullshit.”

“Why does Flagstaff piss you off so much?” Sam knew but Dean was on a roll. 

“Because.”

“Great. Great answer.” Sam shook his head and he hadn’t even set the bottle of whiskey down, filling his glass up over and over. He even considered asking Dean if they had any straws.

“You don’t talk about it.”

“I’ve tried. But Dean, whatever problems or issues I have, it always winds up being about you. How _you_ felt, how it affected _you_. Why it upset _you_.”

“No, I don’t. You’re makin’ me sound selfish.” Dean said, snatching the bottle from under Sam’s arm.

Sam just raised his eyebrows at Dean’s observation about himself.

“You want to know about Flagstaff?”

“Yeah, I do. And leave out all the Mr. Pibb and ‘ _Oo, I’ve got a dog_ ’ crap. Why is it always dogs with you?” Dean frowned. 

“I like dogs. But you might not like the truth about Flagstaff.”

“Try me.”

“You won’t like it.”

“Tell. Me.”

Sam sighed and poured himself a triple whiskey.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam wasn’t thinking straight. Couldn’t if he wanted to. Dean and John were fighting loudly because Dean had stepped up to defend Sam for daring to yell and cuss at his father. He had a ton of homework to get through but Sam was meant to be outside throwing knives at John’s crudely made targets. Sam had argued that he had homework to do and he hadn’t held back.

“Why the fuck do you send me to school if you won’t let me do my homework?!” Sam had yelled and received a backhander across the face for it. Dean, as ever was playing the part of the middle-man, appalled by John’s behavior but at the same time, trying to stay in his father’s good books.

“I’ll make sure he trains, sir” Dean held up one hand, placating as usual as Sam disappeared into himself. And Sam had disappeared because Dean was fresh out of the shower, one white-knuckled fist clutching at the corners of the towel. It did little to hide his modesty and Sam couldn’t look. Not at that moment. Other moments had been fine, he hadn’t been scared during those other moments. But Dean took it all from John, with John doing little else than throwing his own daggers in Sam’s direction; like his youngest son was the biggest disappointment known to man. And there was Dean, stepping up as usual. As with all the Winchester fights, it wasn’t resolved and all John did was run through the long list of ‘do’s and don’t’s’ before leaving with thunderous meaning. Again. For how long this time? Who knew, and who really cared.   
“Why can’t you keep your mouth shut, Sammy?” Dean yelled, the moment John’s truck revved and reversed from the parking space outside their motel room.

“I was defending myself, I’m allowed to do that, Dean. Would be nice if you were on my side once in a while.”

“I’m _always_ on your side.”

“Yeah? Felt like it.” Sam said, slamming shut a book because no door.

“We’ve got to move on, Dad’s orders. Get your shit together. We’re leavin’.” 

And that was the end of _that_ talk.

Sam had been feeling increasingly more like an outsider in recent months. He always had really, the family secret had been kept from him longer than he would have liked and finding out terrified him to his very soul. He’d never truly embraced the life, preferring the structure of school and the joy of learning and attempting to feel as normal as he could under the circumstances. And John with his little lead cheerleader in Dean had been there at every turn to keep Sam on the right path. Both had believed Sam to be purposely resistant, the precocious teen. But it had never been that. In another world, Sam Winchester was the model teen. Polite, happy, awesome grades, joiner of clubs and loyal friend to many. But it was ‘this world’. And Sam _was_ some of those things but he was also a reluctant warrior who was sent off on hunts on his own while John and Dean barked orders down the phone when Sam just wanted to be anywhere else. Anyone else.  
Sam was at the end of his tether. At 15, a person had to go through a lot to feel like throwing the towel in at such a tender age. There was always too much. John was borderline abusive, an alcoholic. They had no stable home, no real family. And then there was Dean. The one steady constant in Sam’s life who tried too hard to keep everyone together because really, Dean wanted the things Sam wanted too, only he didn’t ever talk about it. Dean had been like a God to Sam, for so many years. Father, mother, brother, friend. Always there, always had a smile. Always gave him the last of everything. And Sam had never known such a loyal, loving person in his life but there had been a change. The first change. And it made Sam feel as terrible as it should rightly have.  
The worst thing about Sam’s life was that he couldn’t see into the future, not a soul can but Sam’s was so depressingly uncertain he could do little else but live day by day. He knew what he wanted out of the life he had been given, ordinary things that felt impossible for him but obtainable for a ‘normal’ person. College, a wife, kids maybe and a nice house in the ‘burbs. But of course, all Sam could see was possible death. John might die, Dean might die, he himself could succumb. And Sam blamed the ‘change’ on his own subconscious mind. That perhaps he was seeking something in the dark that might help living the life of a hunters son a little more bearable, something that would take his mind from not knowing whether he was coming or going. So, hey brain. Why not slowly fall in love with your brother? Perhaps _that_ would help. Of course Sam liked girls, aside from all the monsters, unstable home life and diet of sugary cereal and Spaghetti-O’s Sam Winchester was a pretty ordinary kid and probably that was the reason everything around him felt so _wrong_. He should be out there being awkward around the prettiest girl in school, he should be joining clubs and playing in the soccer team. His social calendar should have been overflowing with extra-curricular activities that didn’t involve butterfly knives and stripping guns down to their bare bones. And he shouldn’t have pretended to be asleep when Dean slipped a knife under his pillow because Sam had refused and just wanted to sleep like a normal kid. Sam’s resistance to embrace all things monstrous was what caused the constant fights between him and John. And Dean could see the point of both parties. Sam just wanting so much to go to school and be a kid and John wanting to keep his boys safe in the only way he knew. The loss of Mary had twisted John’s grief into something monstrous itself.

Dean. Dean was the light. Even when he sided with John, Sam could forgive him for it. Always placating, always whispering ‘ _It’s okay, Sammy_ ’ after passing on orders from John. ‘ _I’m sorry, Sammy_.’ Dean was a lost a boy as his brother was. And Sam loved him. Always had. The night Sam found John’s journal had been a turning point for Sam, in so many ways. For some time all he had concerned himself with was the absence of their father. Needing the man to be around, to parent. And then his world was torn open and he had learned the truth and was so frightened but not just for himself. But for John and for Dean. Sam Winchester had never been a coward, just a reluctant hero waiting in the wings. And eventually went on to be the bravest man the world had ever seen. Sam would argue with that, ever modest. Never wanting anything by way of reward. Thanks was enough because he got his reward from his brother. A nod of ‘ _good call_ ’, a tight loving hug when they had escaped with their lives, and occasionally words that meant something. ‘ _You did good, Sammy_.’

Sam loved his brother because he mostly had his back, they had the same lives, the same doomed mother, the same self-destructive father. But he loved him in a way that unsettled him, it was borderline worship and Sam was old enough to realize that worship could be the worst kind of adoration a person could bestow on another. Made him think of religious fanatics, dying for their God. Forsaking all others for the love of their untouchable deity. Sometimes Sam could punch Dean bloody until he passed out, some days Dean could get him to drink the Kool-Aid.


	3. Chapter 3

The boys were moving on just as John had instructed. Dean at only 19 and charged with caring for the Impala since John’s cache of weapons in his truck was vitally needed for whatever hunt or trail he had been chasing. Sam hated Dean’s driving at that point. He was reckless and took too many risks but shotgun was a whole lot better than being shoved in the back like a toddler and told to shut up whining.

“So where are we going?” Sam asked as Dean picked him up from his second school in as many months. He hadn’t grown that attached to that particular school and mostly he was looking forward to spending time with Dean while John was away. They were the halcyon days for Sam, when Dean was relaxed and entirely less annoying.

“Heading back east.”

“Vague.”

“Dad wants us in Illinois.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“It amazes me how little you question anything that man says.”

“’That man’? Hell, Sammy. That’s cold.” Dean chuckled.

“He’s cold.” Sam said bitterly as streaks of amber street lights danced across Dean’s face. No wonder he rarely struck out with girls. Dean was almost a man now, Dean would argue that he was ‘all man’ but he still got the odd zit now and then and didn’t shave as often as he boasted to Sam about. Sam liked how Dean looked, a lot. That pretty full mouth and green eyes. And often wondered why they looked so different and whether John perhaps knew Sam was perhaps the result of some affair of Mary’s and that he wasn’t really his son. Sam was still gawky but had lost his puppy fat and recently grown at such an alarming rate that it caused Dean to bark at him to ‘ _stop growing, you ain’t gonna be taller than me_.’ But while Sam was all limbs and floppy hair that was constantly out of control, Dean was a God. A high school heartthrob with a cocksure attitude. 

Sam would watch him getting ready to go out. It seemed like a long process for a young man who didn’t need to make much of an effort at all. Sam liked Dean best when he had just woken up, all sleepy and disheveled, cute almost. And when he had just showered and his thick dirty blonde hair looked darker and Dean seemed vulnerable wrapped in nothing but a towel. Sam liked Dean too much and those feelings he had as a child resurfaced. The feeling that he was unclean. And wrong. But still the feelings for his brother manifested and showed no signs of abating.

“Quit staring at me.” Dean muttered.

“I’m not. Shut up.” That exchange had happened more than once and every time Sam had sunk into his seat while Dean chuckled to himself as if he knew. He didn’t of course. That wouldn’t transpire for another fifteen years. 

_Where Dean forgets for fifteen years_

“Argh, no. Please don’t leave me here on my own. It’s boring, Dean.” Sam threw himself back on the only bed in their motel room, a throwback to the tantrum period Sam suffered between the ages of three and seven. Dean was peacocking and fogging the room with Axe body spray.

“You’re too young to come with me, you look like a ten year old.”

“Uh.” Sam sat up mechanically and fast. “You’re not 21 either, Dean.”

“I look it.”

“No. You don’t. Oh please, Dean. This is bullshit.”

“Don’t cuss.”

“Fuck you, you’re not Dad.”

“You got HBO, and I bought you the snacks you wanted.” Dean said from the bathroom, waxing his hair. Primping and preening. Full of himself and so sure he was going to get laid.

“I want to hang out with you.”

“We’ve been hanging out together all day, Sammy.” Dean said, emerging from the bathroom in boxers and buttoning his best shirt. Khaki green which toned with his eyes and slightly tan skin.

“In the car, Dean. That’s not ‘hanging out’, that’s traveling together. And you better not bring a girl back here, we’ve only got one bed and I am not sleeping on the couch again.” Sam said, all in one go; begging for Dean to stay and resigning himself to the fact that Dean had no intention of staying at all and couldn’t be persuaded otherwise.

“It’s okay, I have the ‘love wagon’.” Dean smirked, throwing his eyes at the window, just outside sat the gleaming Impala.

“Gross.” Yeah, Sam suddenly had a moment of clarity in amongst the fog of illegal ‘brother love’. “You do realize that Dad probably fucked Mom in that car. More than once.” Sam chuckled to himself and Dean threw a comb at him.

“Don’t cuss. And shit, Sammy. Don’t say stuff like that.” 

And then Dean bent over to grab his jeans from the floor and Sam sighed and hated himself all over again.

So Dean left and Sam zoned out, polishing off half a tube of Pringles and sucked on a Red Vine like a pacifier until he fell asleep, woke up to turn the lights and TV off then passed out again. The rumble of the Impala’s engine woke him, it was a habit. The noise was a familiar alert. ‘ _Dad’s back, fuck_.’ ‘ _Dad’s gone, thank fuck_.’ Sam listened to the sound of Dean fumbling outside with his key, scratchy metal on metal. He was drunk but on further listening, he was alone. Sam smiled to himself. There was more fumbling, clothes being removed and grunts of a young man keen to get himself horizontal as soon as. And then he flopped down onto the bed, it made a comical ‘boing’ sound and one arm was slung over Sam’s waist. It wasn’t unusual for them to share the same bed although the occasion for it was becoming less and less frequent. Sam made his move and wiggled his ass, disguising it as a ‘ _you disturbed me, jerk_ ’ stretch.

And really, Sam enjoyed the contact more than anything. John had never been a hugger and Dean would get all ‘ _gay!_ ’ if Sam even attempted any kind of affection. But Sam was starved of it and so took the opportunity to grab what he could, even if it was middle-of-the-night cuddles with a drunken Dean. His brother had his own scent when it wasn’t clouded by leather, Axe and the ‘new car’ scented Magic Tree that hung on the rear view in the Impala. Sam couldn’t describe it but it wasn’t there that night. All he could smell was faded body spray and the fact that at some point on Dean’s adventure, he had been smoking. But that was okay because the feeling of being pulled in and cuddled felt so right, it almost brought a tear to Sam’s eye. Then it happened. Sam felt Dean’s dick move like a sigh against the swell of his ass, Sam was already packing because Dean had that effect more times than Sam was happy to acknowledge. Dean didn’t have to do much which added to the embarrassment, a little staccato hip roll and the tips of three fingers twiddling Sam’s dick through his boxers like a volume dial and Sam was silently coming inside his underwear. He had to stifle any noise that threatened to come out of his mouth with his fist. His voice had begun to break in recent months but he was still prone to the occasional falsetto squeal. Dean came too, which was remarkable. Still able to ‘wet-dream’ while stone cold drunk. The joys of an unstoppable 19 year old penis.

Sam turned around because he knew Dean was passed out, the weight of him against his body told him as much. He couldn’t see his face all that clearly, just the bridge of his freckled nose and the deep dip of the philtrum above his top lip. ‘ _Why do you have to be so beautiful, why do you have to be you, why do I have to be me?_ ’ Sam frowned and stared Dean’s still, motionless face down. It instantly pissed him off.

Next day, Dean woke up with a heavy head and to an empty room. Sam had bolted and not left a note. They wouldn’t see one another again for two weeks.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam had walked far. And for a kid whose diet mostly consisted of sugary cereals and mac n’ cheese he was fairly fit. John would once in a while mutter the words ‘ _eat broccoli_ ’ while Dean was insistent that ‘ _ketchup is a vegetable_ ’. Added to the mac for ‘spice’. The training had helped and the sparring although Sam’s moral jury was still out as to whether sparring with his gorgeous brother was right at all. And since puberty had kicked in, Sam had been feeling a little more confident about his body image, he cared about it. And what he put in it but even the son of a hunter can run out of fuel. With no car and dicing with death on the sloping bank of a highway Sam threw caution to the wind and stuck his thumb in the air. Dangerous but he was fast with his butterfly knife and he was pretty sure he was still ‘findable’ but he wanted to get as far away from Dean as possible because it was just too much. All of it was too much. Everything. All the time, day and night. Odd moments of happiness would rear up but they were never enough to mask Sam’s horrible life. 

Once, when Sam was fourteen John had returned battered and bruised after a hunt. Sam found it difficult at times to feel bad for the man, to him it was akin to constantly throwing yourself in the path of a bus. Why keep doing it? Dean of course was fussing around John with a first aid kit like an overzealous candy-striper and Sam, who at that point had zero control over what came out of his mouth just let rip.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” Sam was almost in tears. He loved John because that’s what a person does. He hated him a lot of the time but there’s that fine line. Sam hated seeing John stagger back home, bleeding and writhing in pain. Dean on first aid auto-pilot. Blood everywhere, splayed open wounds revealing flesh and bones. Sam knew how fragile the human body was and all he saw in John was a broken man covered in dental floss stitches, drinking from a bottle of whiskey and probably planning his next hunt. An unstoppable force. Because if John were to have stopped, he would have seen Sam crying, he would have noticed Dean’s twitching jaw line and trembling hands as he sewed his dad back together. It was always heartbreaking and always horrible.

“It’s my job.” John grunted out and perhaps he heard the sorrow in Sam’s voice and chose to ignore it like he so often did.

“It’s a stupid job! It’s a stupid life! I hate it and I fucking hate you!”   
Neither John nor Dean reacted to Sam’s tantrum, a just one of course but futile. Dean’s jaw clicked to the point that it hurt and Sam ran. Left their seventh set up in as many months and just ran. He got as far as the entrance to the complex. Nowhere to go. So he just cried until there was nothing left inside him.

*

The pickup that pulled over, quite illegally, was gleaming. Sam had never been into cars like his brother had, but even he was impressed. One of those old-timey ones that looked like a bubble almost. ‘ _All curves and ass_ ’ Dean would have said. It was bright aqua and had car show stickers on the rear window.

“Shouldn’t be hitchhiking along here, son. Get yourself killed.” The man said with a concerned but friendly smile. He had a kind face, but then so had Ted Bundy. Sam covertly ran a hand over the knife in his pocket. “Where are you headed?” Sam paused and thought fast, first place he could think of.

“Flagstaff.” Sam blurted out.

“Hop in, kid. Just watch out for bones.”

“Huh?” Alarmed, Sam stalled as he approached the pickup until a head popped up from the seat.

“He’s friendly but he doesn’t much enjoy being sat on.” The man chuckled and Sam laughed, climbing in as Bones the golden retriever sat up, wagging his tail in the mans face, happy to meet someone new. “Seat belt on-” The man batted away the excited tail and coaxed Bones to sit with a hand on his rear. “-what’s your name, kid?”

“Sam.” 

“I’m Gary.”

Gary was a nice a person as a person can be. Concerned about Sam’s welfare, he asked him a lot of questions but in such a way so as not to make Sam feel vulnerable or scared. Sam liked Gary instantly and Bones liked Sam even more. His face was licked to oblivion and once the dog became tired of that, he sat with his chin on Sam’s lap and fell asleep blissfully spoiled by Sam gently scratching away at his head.

“You got family in Flagstaff?”

“Hm. My uncle has a cabin out there and we’re all meeting up for a family get together.” Sam lied. He was good at that, with John Winchester as a father, it was a vital life tool.

“Family get together, huh?” Gary sounded skeptical but he had deduced that the kid was bright and savvy, intelligent and more than able to hold an adult conversation. And Sam reveled in it. No talk of vengeful spirits, or weapons training. No fighting, no pining. Just normality, Sam was almost drowning in it.

The signs for Flagstaff started popping up at regular intervals. Sam had been there before many times and was beginning to see familiar landmarks. The large supermarket where Dean had lifted a bunch of stationary for Sam stuck out more than any of them. Dean. Sam couldn’t begin to think about how frantic Dean probably was at that moment. For all his faults, Sam knew Dean loved him, that he needed Sam just as much Sam needed Dean. He drifted off into his own head for a few minutes as he decided to call Dean the moment he arrived in Flagstaff. Sam didn’t feel that bad about his life that it had made him stop caring entirely. He loved Dean and whatever weird feelings he had were a phase. Just a silly crush, hero-worshiping. That was all. Nothing more. If he could deal with hateful feelings toward John then he could-  
The crash was loud, but it was less of a crash and more of an echoing crunch. Sam’s immediate reaction was to grab hold of Bones, pulling the dog by his collar and gripping him against his chest. The pickup spun too many times for Sam to count. He braced his knees against the dash and hunched over Bones as he saw Gary’s head lolling violently backward and forward as he tried to take back some kind of control. The tires seemed to have no grip at all as the vehicle spun like a top across the road and came to a stop, wedging itself firmly in a grassy bank. Bones whimpered and Sam took a moment to mentally check himself. Everything felt normal, a little bruised but everything moved. Bones was in one piece but was visibly distressed, whimpering and tucking his snout under Sam’s chin.

“It’s okay, boy. We’re okay.” Sam said, running a testing hand down Bones’ rear. It felt wet and when Sam was able to fully focus, he glanced at Gary who was slumped over the steering wheel, his face was a bloody mess. He was dead. Sam panicked then, leaning over the blood covered dog and trying to check for a pulse even though he could see that Gary was gone, his clavicle was shattered and protruding from his skin. The sight made Sam shiver and then he burst into tears. Kind man, caring man with his pride and joy pickup and his friendly dog. Bones licked at Sam’s face before nudging at the door, keen to get out, aware of the stillness of his best friend. The bent up hood started to hiss and Sam heard the low rattle and thrum of a fire igniting. Grabbing his bag and Bones he forced his way out of the car, dragging the dog by his collar up the bank as far as he could scramble to put distance between them and the truck. Sam slumped down and watched the pickup ignite and slowly burst into flames.


	5. Chapter 5

Gary had been the nicest person Sam had met in a long while. Genuinely kind and concerned about Sam and where he was going but savvy enough not to ask too many question as to frighten his hitchhiker. The loss of him broke Sam’s heart more than he was expecting and he felt nothing but sick to the stomach as the beautiful pickup and Gary were engulfed in flames. As cars began to stop and their owners approached the scene, Sam retreated from the bank and slipped down behind it on his ass, still dragging a mournful Bones along with him. He basically knew where he was but the cabin was a long way off and the impact of the crash was slowly beginning to manifest itself physically. Sam ached and his neck felt stiff, he knew that to be whiplash, mild at least. But there was no way he could find the energy to walk Bones all the way to the cabin, crunched over and holding the dogs collar. Last thing he needed was a bolting dog running off and getting hit by a car or attacked by coyotes. He sat down and one handedly untied his shoe laces and pulled them through the eyelets before tying them together using a square knot and fixing it to Bones’ collar as a makeshift leash.

“There, means you can’t go anywhere and I can walk like a human being.” Sam said, smiling as Bones responded to the kindness in Sam’s voice. He had always loved dogs, had always wanted one but hunting and a life on the road is no life for a human, let alone a dog. They were always so receptive and loyal, unconditionally so. And Sam enjoyed the purity of that. He gave Bones a huge hug and the dog responded in kind. It had been the first hug Sam had enjoyed for months and probably longer.

The walk was horrible as Sam’s body begun to resist the exertion. Bones was loving it, enjoying the late evening sun, stopping to sniff anything and everything, peeing, pooping and occasionally looking up at Sam as if he were smiling. On the horizon Sam could see the small strip mall he and Dean used to hang out at whenever they stayed at the cabin. It wasn’t much, a ratty convenience store, a pawnbrokers, a bar that Dean never got served in (which had amused Sam greatly), a laundromat and a store with black windows which Dean claimed sold sex toys and such. Sam had always hated the facade of that store, it looked creepy from the outside, he couldn’t imagine what it was like inside. 

Sam tied Bones up outside the convenience store much to the dogs disappointment. 

“I won’t be long, just getting us some snacks, boy.” Sam smiled and instantly felt guilty leaving him outside but hunger had kicked in and he was sure that Bones could eat something too.

Once inside, he grabbed a six pack of Mr. Pibb, two large bags of Funyuns, a bunch of bananas and a small bag of kibble for his friend. At the counter he added a snack bag of jerky too to treat Bones on the walk to the cabin. Money was a problem, Sam didn’t have much at all, enough to buy his groceries and perhaps enough left over to buy it all again. He wasn’t expecting to have another mouth to feed. 

*

The cabin was a welcome sight and even more so the fact that no one was there. Bobby used it often and occasionally other hunters would hole up in it if they happened to be in the vicinity. Sam kicked the corner of the door mat and retrieved the key, finally letting go of Bones’ ‘laces leash’ which had started to cut into Sam’s hand. The dog trotted from room to room, sniffing and investigating while Sam walked straight to the kitchen to inspect the state of the larder. He wasn’t too saddened that it was almost empty, save for a few cans of green beans and a huge can of Folgers coffee which Sam was unlikely to break into, his coffee tastes had been more sophisticated and lethal for quite a few years now. He took out two bowls from under the sink, filled one with kibble and other with Funyuns and found himself laughing, bowls raised as Bones danced laps around his legs toward the living room. Sam set the kibble down and slumped onto the couch which only puffed out a little dust. He didn’t care as he stuffed his face and watched Bones vacuum up his dinner.

Now that he had stopped and reached his final destination, Sam’s mind clicked into gear, too many emotions washed over him to deal with all in one go. He hoped that Gary died quickly and that he really had been dead and not woken up, alive and burning to death. He hoped that the fire had been put out quickly and that his body wasn’t charred beyond identification. He looked at Bones who was licking his chops and settling down for a long earned rest and hoped that he didn’t mind Sam being his new friend. And then the guilt came in like a punch to the gut. Sam had just lost a brand new friend which made him feel bad enough, he didn’t even want to think about Dean, trawling the streets in the Impala, frantic with worry. Switching from mad, to fear and then back again, heart aching. And Sam knew that Dean would feel like that and wished he could have gone back to at least leave a note. To tell Dean he needed to go, just for a while. And to not worry. But Sam knew that he would. 

Sam woke feeling as stiff as a board the next morning. He didn’t remember even attempting to sleep but he had, heavily so and was curled up too tight on the couch. The moment he moved, Bones pricked up and plodded over to Sam, resting his chin on the edge of the couch. 

“Mornin’, boy.” Sam smiled, warmed to see a keen and happy face instead of two grumbling men scowling at him over steaming cups of coffee. Coffee. Sam gave into the Folgers and popped open the tin while Bones slurped up a bowl of water by his feet. Sam felt happier than he had the night before. He knew that it had likely been shock but the blissful waking on his own terms to a happy household had set his mood right for the rest of the day. Bones followed him from room to room as Sam showered and changed and promised the dog a game of fetch to loosen up their bodies. If Sam hurt, it was likely Bones had been feeling sore too.

As Sam and Bones enjoyed an exuberant game of fetch outside all the negatives in Sam’s life slowly drifted away. And the only thing that would have made the situation truly perfect was the addition of Dean. His big brother, for all his faults (not once had Sam ever implied that he himself was perfect. Far from it) wasn’t a negative. Dean was a huge plus, the only plus in Sam’s life that made it worth living. It was only Sam’s own ridiculous thoughts and feelings that goaded Sam into needing to put some distance between he and his brother. And that thing had happened, whatever it was. Sam didn’t have the nerve to hang around to find out what that had been. He felt happy and more so, he was making another being happy. He wasn’t in the way, or taking up too much of the table with his books, or refusing to go on hunts. He was spreading joy and he liked the feeling very much indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

As with all hunter cabins, the amenities were more ‘preparing for the apocalypse’ rather than holiday home. The space outside was fine for games of fetch but decidedly bleak and inside the rows of books stacked up on shelves were mostly basic lore books which Sam knew he had read a thousand times. There was a TV that wasn’t hooked up to receive cable or anything worth watching but Sam did unearth an old VCR and a stack of videos. He perused them, and figured that Dean must have watched a few of them in the past. There were a few ancient Chuck Norris movies, The Cannonball Run and a compendium of nature documentaries. Sam took out the volume about whales and listened to it clunk/click into the top loading VCR. Nice. He had always enjoyed watching nature shows, at least when Dean wasn’t hogging the TV wherever they happened to be. He enjoyed the serenity of them and they felt like a world away from his life killing monsters.   
Bones was tuckered out, sprawled across a rug in the living room. Half asleep but opening one eye every so often to check that Sam hadn’t abandoned him. He was woken with a start though as Sam opened a narrow closet door that was tucked away in one corner of the living room. It had been tied with string to keep it closed, a warning perhaps that it should be kept shut. But the moment Sam unraveled the string, the door flew open and from it slid hundreds and hundreds of postcards. He took a step back as they all slid from the rotting plastic bags that had been holding them and just let them fall until he was ankles deep in them. Sam bent down once the cascade had stopped and picked one up. It had four different pictures on it, three of pretty flowery views of Holland and one of two women in traditional Dutch dress. Clogs and everything. He flipped it over and there was a small note on the back. 

‘ _Having a wonderful time. Lots of tulips! Very flat land but the people are lovely. See you soon. Much love, Iris xx_ ’

Sam had no clue who Iris was but it warmed him that she had been having such a lovely time and after checking the slightly faded date stamp, he noticed it had been over thirty years since she had done so. With his interest piqued, Sam knelt down and fished through the postcards. Some were blank on the reverse, some had long heartfelt messages on them and funny colorful stamps. And they were from all over the world; Canada, Europe, Asia, New Zealand and places that Sam hadn’t even heard of before. And then it struck him, it had to be someone’s collection. With nothing much to do, Sam gradually piled the postcards up and decided that he would catalog every last one. 

An hour later, Sam was sitting in the middle of the living room floor, the couch had been pushed back and he was surrounded by stacks of postcards. He felt so relaxed, with his whales singing in the background and bowl of Funyuns next to his knee as he marked down postcard after postcard, ordering and marking them off and even setting aside a pile of ones he liked himself. And perhaps a few that Dean would enjoy. By what should have been dinner time, Sam had piles relating to continents, cities, obscure little towns he had never heard of and a few odd loose stamps that had dried over the years and fallen off. The entire project, although not barely half way done had given Sam some well needed calm, drifting away into a haven of mindfulness and order. He leaned back against the couch and flicked through the few that he had decided to keep himself. The first one was of Flagstaff. It was old, printed perhaps in the 50’s if the cars parked up alongside the strip mall were anything to go by. Across the image it read; ‘ _Greetings from Flagstaff – on the Route 66_ ’. Sam knew Dean would enjoy it, the vintage cars and the mention of the now historical and legendary highway. He grabbed his pen and wrote on the back, Sam had no intention of mailing it. Nowhere to mail it to but it was the thought that counted.

‘ _Dean, made a friend. Found some treasure. Wish you were here. Sam’_. And at then end a kiss, which he scribbled over as an after thought and covered with a crappy drawing of a car. Sam really did wish that Dean was there. He slipped the postcard into his bag and stood up to survey his epic day of cataloging. He had been so engrossed that the whale documentary had finished hours ago, the tape had ground to a clunking end and had rewound back to the start with a rattle. He would watch the one about grizzlies tomorrow.

*

Sam soon fell into a sweet and calming routine. He would get up and shower, breakfast with Bones and then the pair would venture outside to play fetch and take a run around the cabin. He had slipped into the simple life rather too easily and felt that he craved the discipline of school and the regimen of a well-organized family life even more. A life where the mom is always up first, humming in the kitchen making pancakes for her stirring clan. Just like in the movies. Dad is wearing a tie slung over his shoulder while he reads the morning papers and drinks his first coffee of the day, while the two siblings fight over the last pancake before rushing out the door, yelling ‘ _goodbyes_ ’ and ‘ _see ya’s_ ’ before jumping onto a big shiny yellow school bus. That was Sam’s fantasy, always had been. While Dean was still comfortable watching monster movies like ‘Clash of Titans’ and ‘Jason and the Argonauts’ Sam would find himself whisked away by snatched episodes of ‘Home Improvement’ and old 50’s shows that were all about perfect nuclear families. Such a contrast to his life of waking up and forgetting where he was, or crossing state lines without even realizing because the Impala had been their bed for the night. Sam craved normality, like an addict craved crack.

Sam wrote two more postcards to Dean over the course of as many days. One was of three Florida ‘beach babes’, topless with towels covering their tits. It was incredibly eighties but Sam knew Dean was a fan of boobs so who cared which decade they existed in.

‘ _Dean, don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Still wish you were here. Sammy_ ’. Sam rarely signed his name off as ‘Sammy’ and chose the moniker purely to appease Dean. Not that the postcards were ever going to be mailed. The second was of a Wild West town, a touristy attraction that looked like a movie set. He wrote;

‘ _Dean, We should go to this place one day. I’ll let you be Wyatt Earp for the day. I miss you, just you. Sammy_.’

Sam’s cataloging project was the _only_ thing keeping his mind from thinking about Dean and on the third night, he found he had trouble sleeping because Dean was there in the forefront of his mind. Sam felt utterly confused by the feelings he had toward his brother and even more so, his brain insisted on replaying the _thing_ that had happened the night before Sam decided to bolt. Even at fifteen he was capable of rationalizing; hormones fucking with his mind be damned but he knew he had the power over how he felt about everything in his life. Like the postcards, Sam was gifted with compartmentalizing his fears about losing John, his disappointment at being cheated from having a mother, how hunting would _never _be his life, along with more educational things like the workings of calculus problems and soaking up the lore of his world like a sponge. The biggest problem of all was Dean because he often threw up too many emotions for Sam to deal with at once. Disgust had been prevalent that night and when sleep did eventually take him, he drifted off with a sour taste in his mouth.__


	7. Chapter 7

On the morning of the fourth day, sleep seemed to have locked Sam’s feelings toward Dean away, his subconscious mind had done the work for him. For now. He ate a breakfast of too soft bananas and counted the small amount of change that he had left. He had a fleeting thought before he had left Dean to rob his wallet, his morals had taken over and he left with his meager savings he was keeping to buy school supplies but the feeling of leaving Dean without any money for food and gas was too much. Sam Winchester, unselfish to the point of potentially starving himself. At least where his brother was concerned.

Another day was spent playing with Bones, half-watching the VHS volume about Birds of Paradise which Sam found the most engrossing video so far. He continued his project then fashioned a new leash for Bones with some blue nylon rope he had found under the kitchen sink with a view to walk back to the strip mall and hope that since it was later in the day they would have cut the prices on some of their fresh produce. And he hadn’t been wrong. As well as grabbing a second bag of Funyuns and a reduced six pack of Mr Pibb (because one can was missing), Sam bought bread and pastries and a jar of peanut butter. He was quite impressed with his little haul and couldn’t wait to get back home. Home was how he saw the cabin now. No hunters had shown up to kick-back for a few days or use the cabin as a base. Although Sam was pretty sure that the rule about shared hunters cabins was first come, first serve and since he was a hunter himself, albeit a reluctant one, he had staked his claim.

*

As time went on, Sam fell into his new routine with ease. He saw his existence as being his life now. Caring for Bones, keeping each other fed, cataloging his postcards (which were his now) and not thinking about Dean at all. Sam hadn’t noticed that Dean had been tucked away in his mind in favor of living a simple life. And that had been the biggest factor for Sam. The simplicity of living. Even if it had been possible to go to school, his life was now calm and moreover, it was his. And Bones’ company meant that he hadn’t become _that_ selfish in not caring about others. He figured too, that was part of his problem. Caring too much. Dean and John were seemingly able to ‘switch off’, even on hunts as if they put themselves into a protective bubble in order to get the job done. John forever had to remind Sam to focus and to ‘ _get your head in the game son_ ’. It didn’t matter that the boy had seen dozens of dead bodies in his short life and that he was expected to be one of those to add more to the ever growing pile of corpses. Sure, they were monsters but most of them looked human aside from the odd wendigo. The rest just looked like they had half-assed their Hallowe’en costumes. A set of sharp teeth or nails and strange color eyes. Sometimes the monsters were just too _human_.

Sam was enjoying the solitude, Bones wasn’t a needy dog and seemed to tap into Sam’s need for quietude. Being alone had suddenly suited Sam Winchester even if, unbeknown to him, Sully had checked in once or twice.

*

Dean’s postcards fell out of Sam’s bag one evening when he was cleaning the cabin, Sam had been a little lax when it came to chores as they slid onto the rug, he slumped onto the floor and Dean was there again; all up inside his head. He had five now, having added one with a photograph of a red Ferrari and another with a partially naked woman on it. They were all so dated, but cars are cars and boobs are boobs. He tucked them back into his bag as a pang of guilt/pining hit Sam in the gut. It had been two weeks and for days now, Dean had been snuggled up asleep in Sam’s head, when in reality he was probably sick with worry. And as if by some sort of twist of fate, Sam saw the headlights of a car swing across the front of the cabin. The rumble of the engine was unmistakable. 

“Fuck, I hope it’s not dad.” Sam muttered to himself. He shoved his bag onto the couch next to a bag of trash he had been clearing up and rushed to the window. He pulled back an inch of the drapes and peered outside. It was Dean. And even though it had been only two weeks, he looked odd. The only other person Sam had spoken to was the man at the convenience store. Yeah, Dean looked odd. But also good. Dean looked good. Normal good and Sam was pleased that had been his initial observation. And then he braced himself.

Bones barked so loudly as Dean barged into the cabin, it made Sam jump. The dog had barely made a sound when they had been together. Loyal already. Sam was standing in the kitchen, there had been no attempt to make himself look busy or occupied, he just stood there and accepted his fate. Dean was a persistent son of a bitch, so Sam was unsurprised that he had been found.   
Twenty four hours later, Bones had been left at the first pound Dean could find. Their conversation about the dog had been brief and Sam had cried his eyes out to the point of almost throwing up but since he was, more than anything, a good little Winchester, he said his goodbyes and let Dean take him in. And that had been the odd thing about Dean finding Sam. He hadn’t said much at all. Sam had been expecting some kind of brotherly nuclear reaction. He had expected yelling and screaming as Dean dragged him by his hair out of the cabin. Instead, he gave him a few stern phrases and a slight skimming of his hand across the top of Sam’s head which would have been comical if Dean hadn’t looked so exhausted. The worry was etched onto his face.

Everything that Sam had managed to repress during that two weeks came back like slap to the face. The life, John, the fights. And Sam figured that the only way he was ever able to get out of the life was to kill himself. And no, he would never do anything _that_ drastic but he was always going to be found wherever he ran to. Perhaps he wasn’t that clever yet to escape without a trace but then, Sam thought, maybe running away doesn’t have to be an attempt to vanish from the face of the earth. Maybe Sam Winchester’s key to running away, to finding something more than his horrible life was to hide in plain sight. To not be a coward and just run, to tell his father and his brother that hunting isn’t for him and that he needs to feel like a functioning member of society.   
When they pulled up outside the motel in Phoenix where Dean had set himself up, Sam turned to his brother and apologized.

“Dean, I know I said it before but I’m sorry about skipping out. I just needed some time. Y’know?” Sam watched Dean nod and wondered if his brother had remembered what they had done and perhaps that had been the reason for Dean being so eerily calm.  
“But, one day I am going to leave Dean. For good. Because I’ll be going to college and really, you and Dad can try and talk me out of it all you want. But I’m going.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” Dean was still holding onto the steering wheel, his knuckles were white and Sam could almost feel the tension in Dean’s body. Oh he was mad but for some reason, Dean hadn’t let rip.

“I don’t hate you, Dean. I just want a normal life.” Sam got out of the car before Dean could say another word.


	8. Chapter 8

_Now_

“You have no recollection, do you? Or is this just you, conveniently forgetting things that your mind can’t deal with?” Sam slurred, one arm quite comfortably clutching the whiskey bottle like a life line.

“It was a weird time, I mean I was goin’ out of my mind with worry. You had just bolted. I couldn’t tell Dad. He would have flipped.”

“Sure.” Sam was good at reading people. Dean had taught Sam all the tells he had needed to learn when it came to hustling poker which had in turn come in extremely handy when his brother was playing the part of ‘big fat liar’.

“I was drunk.” Dean muttered as his face almost glowed with embarrassment. 

“Oh okay, Dean. But not _that_ drunk that you don’t remember.” Sam shook his head.

“Look we were kids, it was stupid and not to mention gross.”

“You used to tell me that you were ‘all man’.” Sam said, pulling a face.

“I was nineteen. That’s still a kid. I don’t get why you ran off, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Oh really?” Sam was confidently drunk at that point and if there were a good a time as any to thrash out why Dean had jerked his own brother off fifteen years ago, it was now. It was the Winchester way. Why talk about the ‘thing’ when it had just happened, when you can wait a lifetime to discuss it.

“Yeah.” Dean shrugged like the petulant child he could still be. 

“We have a weird life.”

“Do we? I never noticed.”

“Sarcasm is a bad color on you, Dean.”

“Blue.”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded with a smile, veering off track for a moment.

“Like green is envy, yellow is cowardice. Why is it blue?”

“I don’t know but it just kind of-” Sam shook his head. “- no, we’re going off topic.”

Dean pursed his lips and frowned believing that the brief conversation was over.

“Listen, kids do weird crap like that. It’s experimental.”

“Dean, we weren’t technically ‘kids’.”

And Dean looked on amazed that Sam was still able to perform annoying air quotes whilst drunk and clutching a bottle of whiskey.

“You just now said we _were_ kids, Sammy. Listen-” Dean was becoming riled. “-I don’t even know why it’s an issue. It was like ten years ago.”

“Fifteen.” Sam corrected.

“Okay, fifteen. It’s just not that big of a deal.”

“It was enough to send me running, Dean.”

“It’s what you do.”

“I had my reasons. I always have valid reasons. Sometimes a person needs space.”

“From me.”

“Yeah, as it happens. You.”

“What the hell have I ever done? Sammy, everythin’ that has happened is because of somethin’ you’ve done.”

Sam sat up and slammed the bottle on the table.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Tell me somethin’ new.” Dean leaned back as Sam unfolded his legs from the couch and stood up.

“No, I can’t. I’m not-” Sam threw his arms up in the air and barged past Dean’s knees. His brother curled his hand around Sam’s wrist which was torn from its grasp immediately. “-I can’t have a conversation with you without it going sour.”

“Running again, hm? Off you go, little brother. Y’know, I know the back of you better than I know the front.” Dean said, and Sam hated it because there was spite in Dean’s voice.

“I always come back, Dean.” Sam spun around and suddenly Dean was standing too, even if both of them were swaying like moored boats in a choppy sea, they were squaring up for a fight.

“And why is that, Sammy? Because it seems like you only bother coming back just to plan your next great escape.” Dean threw his arms up.

“Because of you, Dean. You!”

“Awesome, blame me.”

“I’m not blaming you. It’s always been my choice to come back. But I do and it’s always because of you, Dean.” Sam deflated, dropping his intimidating stance. Still taller than his brother by inches and Dean was on a roll.

“Flagstaff, Stanford, the time you met Meg, all that time you were with the Samuel, a whole fuckin’ year with Amelia. It’s quite a list, Sammy.”

“But I come back. I chose you over Amelia, I could have had a normal life with her but I picked you Dean. I always pick you.”

“Thanks?” 

Sam’s nostrils flared and if his mother had been called Daenerys, Dean would have been ‘smored’ to oblivion.

“Fuck you, Dean.” Sam levered his brother away but Dean was being a stubborn ass and resisted until Sam had torn the shoulder stitching of his shirt. And then the punches came. All Sam could think about as he defended himself was how perhaps that if he messed up Dean’s face enough, he wouldn’t look so fucking perfect.

*

Sam hadn’t meant to yell it out while Dean was pounding his face, Dean was clearly angry and who was Sam to deny his brother the chance to let off a little steam. A large part of Sam thought perhaps he deserved it. And for that, he hated himself just a little bit more.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Dean was suspended in time, one bloody fist raised in the air. Sam held his hands up in defense and just crumbled in front of Dean’s face. Fuck single man tears, Sam was sobbing. And it was so unprecedented that Dean knew it wasn’t a situation that could be resolved with yelling and fists. Sam was twisting his neck into the floor, unnaturally so that the sinew bent and sent a shooting pain through the muscle; ignorable pain for a Winchester but no less triggering at that very moment. Sam felt Dean deflate and then the weight of his body pressed against Sam’s hips. The closeness was killing Sam.

“Get off me.” Sam was shaking his head as if the motion was part of a spell to erase _everything_. “Please, Dean. Please.”

“Sammy, what the hell is wrong?” Dean’s voice had softened, Sam couldn’t bring himself at that moment to check if his face had followed suit.

“You. Heard.” Sam sobbed.

“You’re drunk.” Sam shot Dean a look and he hated that Dean, his big brother had suddenly become entirely unreadable. Dean’s face was saying nothing. Or, Sam thought, it was saying everything. The weight lifted from him and Dean’s hands wrapped around his biceps, pulling him up into a slumped sitting position. And then, Dean hugged him. It wasn’t the usual ‘chest bump/back slap’ brotherly man hugs they were used to. It was warm, beautifully familiar and for Sam, oh so painful. Moving wasn’t an option, Sam’s head was spinning like a top; punch drunk and whiskey sick.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. I’m really so, so sorry.” Sam dribbled the words out over the torn seam of Dean’s shirt. “You should have killed me like Dad told you to.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dean hadn’t responded to Sam’s request for a mercy killing and Sam was glad because even in his drunken state, even he realized the words had been a step too far and the Winchester’s never really went in for dying like the rest of the population. And it wasn’t for want of trying on some occasions. But when you’re one part of a strangely co-dependent, ‘let’s make a documentary about these two freak brothers’ relationship with your sibling, you’re not going to let that happen. 

Sam had been dragged to the bedroom by Dean and was curled up on the sheets, crying and babbling out an incoherent soliloquy of an apology. He watched Dean sit by the bed, rubbing his face and at a loss at what to do with such extreme emotions. And then Sam’s swirling brain threw him back in time.

_Sam had been drinking unusually heavily during a case, the pressure of the hunt and his future felt like a vice around him. Dean hadn’t been in the mood for drunken dramatics and Sam was saying things that his brother just didn’t want to hear._

_“You have to watch out for me, alright?” Even drunk, Sam was able to convey conviction. “And if I ever turn into something that I’m not-” Sam paused, he had to be sure he had Dean’s full attention. “-you have to kill me.”_

_“Sam.” Dean was his own kind of horrified by his brothers words and his attempt to walk away was halted by Sam’s grabby hands._

_“Dean. Dad told you to do it. You have to.”_

_“Yeah well, Dad’s an ass. He never should have said anything. You don’t do that. You don’t lay that kind of crap on your kids.”_

_“No, he was right to say it. Who knows what I might become?” Sam was pleading for Dean to understand. “Even now, everyone one around me dies.”_

_“Yeah, well I’m not dying, okay? And neither are you.” Dean fisted the front of Sam’s shirt, coaxing him onto the bed. “Come on, sit down.”_

_“No, please, Dean. You’re the only one who can do it. Promise.”_

_“Don’t ask that of me.”_

_“Dean, please. You have to promise me.” Sam looked up at his brother, eyes wide and perhaps Dean thought that in Sam’s drunken state, their conversation would dissolve into nothing before he sobered up, because he gave Sam the words he wanted to hear._

_“I promise.”_

_“Thanks.” Sam grabbed at Dean’s face and Dean recoiled because it was too familiar, too passionate almost. And Sam’s hands were torn away as Dean grappled with his brother, keen to get him horizontal so he could sleep whatever madness he was living through off. “Thank you.”_

But Sam _had_ remembered that night. Clearly. He wanted so much more from Dean than the assurance that his big brother would kill him and put him out of his misery at the click of his fingers. Sam had wanted comfort, he had wanted Dean’s arms around him. He had wanted to disappear inside his brother. Sam had wanted Dean to fuck him. That had been the only time Sam had made some half-assed attempt at seducing his brother; and he had, quite rightly, been rejected.

Sam calmed slowly. His tears dried and he talked himself into a ten minute power-nap. When he woke up, Dean was still sitting by the bed and Sam could smell coffee.

“I thought you might need it.” Dean said, nodding at a cup on the nightstand. Sam didn’t trust his mouth, even saying something as simple as ‘thank you’ was too much to risk. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Sam watched Dean sip at his own drink and it frustrated him that his brother was still unreadable.

“Dean.” Sam whispered. “Why did you do it? That night, when you came home.”

“I was drunk. I had struck out.” Dean shrugged. 

“But why?”

“You were there.” 

Sam turned his face and buried it into the pillow. 

“You’re an asshole. And a liar.” Sam mumbled.

“What do you want me to do, Sam?” Dean’s voice sounded distance and cold, so cold it sent a shiver up Sam’s spine. 

“Grow a pair of balls and realize that what we have, is more than just taking a bullet for one another. More than selling our souls.” Sam sat up, his head spun but he was keen to ignore it. “Who does that, Dean? What kind of brothers go to such lengths just to be together. There are millions of people who have lost their family, or have been orphaned and left alone. Yet, they just accept it as a part of being human. Everyone experiences loss in their lives. Why do you need me so much, Dean?”

“Because you’re all I’ve got. You’re my brother.”

“You sold your soul for me.”

“You found a faith healer and saved my life.” Dean countered as if it were the most normal thing to happen.

“It’s more than that.” Sam said, tired of the prevaricating. “And you know it. And really, since we don’t exactly live in the realms of normality.” Sam looked straight at his brother whose eyes were cast down and Sam could read nothing but shame. He didn’t like what he saw, but at least he could finally see something on Dean’s face. “I don’t think we should feel ashamed.”

“What you’re suggesting-” Dean said contorting his face as if he had bitten into a lemon.

“We have a connection.”

“Yes, because we’re related.”

“Dean.” Sam sighed. “I’m going to be honest with you, for once. And you can take the information however you choose but you have to promise me that you’ll listen.”

“Okay.” Dean nodded but there was reluctance there and Sam noted his brothers shoulders rising with tension but Sam figured that it was now or never. What had he got to lose? He had lost everything already and he and Dean had bounced back from a lot worse than this.

“Say it, say you promise, Dean.”

“I promise.”

Sam took a long sip of his still too hot coffee and dropped his head, he figured minimal eye contact would help, since looking at Dean on a regular Wednesday afternoon was hard enough.

“I was a kid, really when it first started. And it was never a problem, I just thought you were a hero. I was never one of those kids who hero-worshiped their Dad because I had a brave big brother who took care of me instead. You were tall and so sure of yourself and everything you said to me, at least for a time, was gospel. You didn’t yell at me like Dad did, you let me eat what foods I wanted and let me watch cartoons whenever I wanted to. You were just cool. And really, Dean. The kindest thing you ever did for me was tell me the truth about Dad. _You_ told me and I was so scared, terrified that we’d all die. In hindsight, we kind of all did.” Sam chuckled lightly, throwing one eye at his brother who was still and pensive. “And then, it just spiraled I guess. Feelings came and went as I got older, we fought and sometimes I hated you and other times I loved you so much that I didn’t know what to do with how I felt about you. Families loved one another, I knew that much but I also knew that families didn’t love one another in the way I loved you.” Sam groaned in frustration at his lack of eloquence because honestly, it was never a conversation he had prepared for. He had never once sat in a quiet room and run through all the things he wanted to say to his brother about how much he wanted him. “I’ve had sexual feelings toward you.” Sam felt his stomach drop as Dean let out a soft grunt and watched as his brother tucked his face into his shoulder like a sheltering bird. Sam left the comment hanging because now he needed Dean to talk.


	10. Chapter 10

“Say something.” Sam had allowed five minutes or so for Dean to digest his twisted admission and during the entire time, Dean had sat tucked away silently. At least, Sam thought, he hadn’t bolted.

“You’re talking as if this is something you felt in the past, so why are you telling me now when it ain’t relevant?”

“Because it _is_ still relevant.” Sam said plainly.

“Shit.”

Sam felt sick and it wasn’t the copious amounts of booze he had been drinking all evening. Dean was on the verge of going, quite rightly, nuclear. Sam could almost feel the build up vibrating through the floorboards.

“I’m sorry.”

“This why you’re always runnin’?” 

“Mostly, yes.”

“Because you have a crush on me.” Dean said and for some reason Sam hated the humor in Dean’s voice and the way he had trivialized his very real feelings with teenage slang.

“Don’t call it that.”

“What shall I call it then?”

“You want to label it?”

“I dunno.” Dean stood up and set his cup on the nightstand. “I need some air.”

“Oh.” And Sam guessed that this was Dean’s time to bolt.

“I’m coming back, I just need-” Dean shrugged.

“I know.” Sam smiled up at his brother and for some reason suddenly felt particularly vulnerable, a feeling Sam rarely let in. 

“I’m coming back. I’ll leave my phone and my gun.”

“Okay.” 

No, Sam did not like how calm Dean appeared. He knew his brother well enough that silence was the worst reaction and would only build up to something huge and Sam wondered if he had the strength for it. As Dean left, Sam climbed out of bed. His head was still swimming but the sickness had gone; from the alcohol at least. He showered, cleaned up the small cut across his eyebrow that Dean had given him, fixed himself some fresh coffee and went back to bed. Dean had been gone for more than an hour. As time went on, sleep out of emotional exhaustion finally took him.  
Sam was dreaming. He and Jessica had a long conversation once about dreams. She always had the weirdest dreams, abstract and bizarre. Some might have argued that Sam’s dreams were bizarre too but when you’re a hunter, dreaming about being chased down and ripped apart by vamps was quite normal. But his current dream was more like de ja vue, and oddly comforting. He had never had a dream feel precisely like a life event. The sensations were the same, the smell and when Dean snuggled up behind him his eyes snapped open and the ‘dream’ continued. Dean felt bigger compared to the first time, parts of him felt hard and muscular, other parts were middle-age-is-coming doughy and soft.

“We’ll work it out.” Dean whispered into Sam’s hair.

“I don’t know what that means.” Sam said quietly. His eyes were wide and he prayed that Dean wasn’t mocking him. The first time, the motel room had been almost pitch black. This time, the bedside lamp was still on and as Sam turned around, Dean was right there. The amber light made him look more tanned than he was and somewhat older too, thirty-four but with eyes that had seen forty years of Hell.

“Don’t want to talk about it.” Dean said and as he pulled Sam against his body, Sam could feel how incredibly naked his brother was.

“Okay, but what are you doing?” Sam wriggled back, not that there was much room in the queen sized bed but Dean had him in a warm, vice tight grip.

“You.” Dean said, punching the word out with a flex of his arm around Sam’s waist.

“Dean.”

“I wanted to, that night.” 

“I know. You’re a law unto yourself, Dean.”

“It’s complicated.”

“No shit.” Sam said, except the ‘shit’ came out a few octaves higher than Sam’s usual tone because Dean Winchester had grabbed his ass. “But apparently not _that_ complicated.” Sam sighed and for the second time, tried to wriggle away but Dean wasn’t having it.

“Now or never, Sammy. Please.” 

“Dean. Please don’t do anything that you’re going to regret.”

They both laughed at that and it suddenly became the icebreaker they needed.

“Gonna kiss you now, Sammy.” 

Sam’s eyes flicked down to Dean’s mouth and then his tongue as he did that thing Dean does _all_ the time and mostly drives Sam a little loopy and suddenly Dean’s lips looked like he was modeling lip gloss. And then Sam’s mind inexplicably rewound to when he was almost ten and re-watching ‘Back to the Future’ when Marty was pinned against the inside of a car with his mother’s lips pressed against his shocked mouth. And then Lorraine pulls back and says ‘ _This is all wrong. I don’t know what it is. But when I kiss you, it’s like I’m kissing my brother_.’

“You’re my brother.” Sam muttered as if the dawn of realization had just smacked him around the head.

“And people think _you’re_ the smart one.” Dean smirked at him.

“If it feels weird, I’ll understand.”

Dean just nodded and closed the short distance between them.

“And then we can just forget all about it.” Sam continued and Dean was still nodding and almost there until Sam recoiled so far back that the corner of the nightstand jabbed the base of his skull and he comically slid out of the bed as if he were melting with embarrassment. Dean made no attempt to save his brother and just poked his head over the mattress and raised his eyebrows.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But uh, you kind of got me all riled up and thinkin’ about stuff Sammy.”

“Maybe we should talk first.” Sam said, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. He’d had worse and really his pride was paining him the most.

“What’s to talk about?”

“Like, why are suddenly on board with all of this?”

“It’s not sudden.” Dean said, resting his chin on the edge of the mattress and looking as pretty as a picture. He rubbed his stubbled chin against the sheet and lifted an arm over his head to help Sam back up. “I’ve felt the same way, for a long time. I mean-” Dean grunted as Sam heaved himself up and tucked himself back under the covers using the length of one folded arm to put a barrier between them. “-it ain’t been all angsty and emo like it’s been for you.”

“Shut up.” 

“But I’ve kind of been hard for you for a long time.”

“Romantic.” Sam glared at his brother and laid on his back which made his hair splay out over the pillow.

“Yeah, you’re completely angst free, ain’t you.” Dean sighed.

“Dean, this is just really weird now.”

“I’m confused, Sammy. I thought that this is what you wanted?” Dean looked embarrassed which was an odd color for a man with no shame and it was making Sam feel even more uncomfortable than he already was.

“Yes but, I wasn’t expecting you to be on board with any of this. I was expecting some kind of a fight.” Sam was clutching the bed sheets against his chest like a lady caught short in some French farce.

“Way I see it?” Dean said, levering the sheet from Sam’s white knuckles. “We get enough bad news. Hell, we get the shittiest, most depressing crap to deal with. And Sammy, you ain’t that.” 

“I ain’t?” Sam muttered, but shook the bad grammar away with his head. “I’m not?”

“No, you’re gorgeous.”

“Oh.” Sam inhaled sharply. “God.”

“He ain’t gonna help you.” Dean grinned and he was suddenly so easy and it was at that moment Sam got the tiniest taste of why women who barely know him, fall under the Dean Winchester spell in seconds. He barely had enough time to lay back as Dean crowded over his body and laid the sweetest kiss Sam had ever known against his lips.


	11. Chapter 11

The kiss was brief and testing, chaste almost and for Sam and apparently his brother had been a long time coming.

“Was it weird?” Sam, the talker, keen to get an instant ‘incest report’ from Dean who was hard and pressed up against his body.

“No, no. No talking. Ain’t weird.” Dean said, chasing Sam’s mouth with soft lips which to Sam felt like marshmallows. Not exactly poetic but it had to do. Dean kissed him again, a little more pressure and a lot more body.

“You’re surprisingly gentle.” Sam murmured.

“Shut up.” Dean muttered. “I’m a stud in the sheets.”

“Okay, no. Look, this is moving too fast now. I have no idea if I should be throwing holy water over your face. Can we just talk, a little longer? I have something I want to give you.”

“Me too.” Dean grinned down at his brother but Sam’s face said it all. “Fine.”

Sam watched a confused but disappointed Dean roll onto his back as he crept out of bed.

“I won’t be a moment, De.” Sam smiled as Dean’s face softened at the little pet name. It was about time that Sam gave Dean the postcards from Flagstaff. They had miraculously survived as they had moved from place to place. Where Sam’s computer had died in the car accident they had before John died, the postcards escaped unscathed. Even Sam’s soulless self had cared enough to keep them close.

“What you got there?” Dean sat up on his elbows as Sam sat on his hip and handed a little bundle of postcards wrapped in a few strands of the blue rope he had used for Bones’ leash back in the day. As Dean was handed the postcards, he unraveled the string and threw it on the floor. Sam snatched it up, it was a memento Sam had no intention of losing.

“I wrote these when I was in Flagstaff. Someone, I don’t know who must have collected postcards as a hobby and I found them.”

“Nerd.” Dean interjected as Sam reached out to ensure Dean read them in order. “Ah, titties.” He grinned. “You know me so well, Sammy.”

“Yes.” Sam sighed but continued despite Dean Winchester. “So I spent a lot of time cataloging them.”

“Bigger nerd.” Dean chuckled and was completely shot down by just a look of ‘the daggers’. “My bad, you may continue.”

“Yeah, I enjoyed it and I missed you, a lot. It was a weird time for me, I mean weirder than usual. So I sorted through them, organized them and found a few that I thought you would like at the time.”

“I like ‘em now, heh.” Dean grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Boobs are boobs whatever the decade.”

“Quite.” Sam said through gritted teeth. As much as he always appreciated that Dean could still be humorous, even during the dark times he could have done without it right at that moment. “Dean, please.”

“Okay. You want me to read ‘em now?”

“Hm.” Sam nodded and stood up. “I’ll go make us some hot chocolate.”

“With sprinkles and marshmallows?” 

“No with chocolate powder and questionably near it’s end date milk.” Sam rolled his eyes and left Dean to it.

*

Sam’s list of ‘things in my life that break my heart’ was always tucked away in the back of his mind and most of them included Dean in one form or another. Number two on that list was; seeing Dean cry. Number one being; seeing Dean die. And as Sam walked back into the bedroom holding two mugs of sub par hot chocolate, his heart broke.

“Oh Dean.” Sam said, setting the mugs down on the nightstand, chocolate sloshing over the rims. Sam knew that the postcards contained nothing more than little notes of ‘I miss you’ and ‘wish you were here’ but they had tugged at Dean’s heart all the same.

“I feel so guilty.” Dean said, sniffing up snot and wiping his nose with the back of one hand. “You were just a kid.”

“I know, but so were you.” Sam took the postcards from Dean’s hands, leaned across him and set them down.

“Are they mine? I want to keep them.”

“They’ve always been yours, De.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. So am I.”

“We shouldn’t be sorry.” Dean muttered bitterly.

“I know that too.” Sam sighed and slipped under the covers and for the first time in a long time getting a fleeting glimpse of Dean’s naked body. He curled up beside him and slung an arm across Dean’s belly. 

It was nice, Sam thought. Finally being that close to Dean and even better when he was pulled into a tight, affectionate cuddle. It was the kind of close that Sam had been aching for since time began. It wasn’t wrestling, nor was it holding Dean’s limp, bloody body as the life drained out of him and it was so much more than the hugs they pulled one another into during times of tragedy. It was them, just them stripped bare of everything.

“I ain’t ever been with a guy.” Dean murmured, as if it were news to Sam that his brother was strictly a ‘pussy and tits’ man but the tone was more one of warning. As if prolific ‘stud’ Dean Winchester was telling his brother that because of that, it was likely he’d be a crap lay.

“Neither have I.” Sam said, keeping to himself the amount of times he had seduced his brother in his head. “I’ve tried to.”

“Yeah?”

“Hm, but I guess the signals I gave off were too low-key for the guy in question to pick up on. He’s a little slow.” Sam felt a rumble of laughter emanating from Dean’s chest which reverberated through his.

“I knew. Kind of. It’s not the kind of thing you expect and I uh-” Dean lifted Sam’s chin with a finger. “-y’know.”

“I know.”

And then the real first kiss came, soft and slow. Thoughtfully gentle and exuding love. Dean mapped out Sam’s face with his fingers, thumb dipping into the cleft in his brother’s chin and along his jaw line. And it _was_ like kissing his brother but it wasn’t wrong, or gross or even a little weird. It was comfort, and familiarity and most of all it felt like home. 

For the first time in Sam’s life he knew, even in the deepest recesses of his heart that he now had something that he could never run away from again.


End file.
